


Collected Letters (1930-1943)

by brokentoy, triedunture



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Epistolary, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Masturbation, Other, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-War, Roommates, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Walking In On Someone, World War II, mentions of Bucky/others, mentions of canonical and historical violence, mentions of potential polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-31
Updated: 2014-05-31
Packaged: 2018-01-27 19:58:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1720724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokentoy/pseuds/brokentoy, https://archiveofourown.org/users/triedunture/pseuds/triedunture
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The collected private correspondence—unedited, uncensored—of Steven Rogers, later known as Captain America, and his longtime companion, James B. Barnes, spanning the years from childhood to World War II.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Collected Letters (1930-1943)

Brooklyn, NY

September 24, 1930

Dear Bucky,

I hope you are well.

 

My Ma insisted I wrote this to you, even though I told her you think it’s weird.

 

She said I should thank you because that’s what polite people do, and that’s what you are to friends. I wouldn’t know, I didn’t have any before, but I always try to listen to my Ma because she’s usually right about these things. Except she called you James! But don’t worry, I told her you don’t like it when people call you that, and that since you introduced yourself as Bucky it’s only fair that’s what she should call you from now on. I hope that's okay.

 

Anyway, thank you for earlier today.   
  


I still think you needn’t have bothered, that I didn’t need your help so much, but I still appreciate it.

 

Those guys are jerks but I’m used to dealing with them. I know they’re stupid cowards and that they just don’t like people who are smarter than they are, and that’s why they pick on me so much. My Ma keeps telling me that and she’s usually right about these things too.

I’m okay though. My eye is swollen but with some ice it will get back to normal soon, and there won’t be bruises in a couple of days. I’m still sore around the nose, but it’s not broken so I suppose I’m lucky.

I hope your knuckles stopped bleeding. I was thinking about Charlie’s face earlier and how funny it looked all purple and beaten up, and it made me laugh a little. I know it’s not funny, not really, and my Ma would not approve, but I can’t help it. Charlie is an idiot and he got what he deserved, and it was great to see how fast his friends ran away once you punched him in the face.

Anyway, I hope you like chocolate. Ma gave me some she brought back from the hospital and I thought I would share it with you.   
  
That’s what friends do, I think, right?

Thank you again, I’ll see you tomorrow.

Your friend,

Steve

**  
  
  
  
**

Brooklyn, NY

September 25, 1930

**  
  
**

Dear Steve,

I was going to just talk to you the next time I saw you on the stoop, but my momma saw your letter when I had it out to read under the dinner table, and she said your ma was right and you got to write back when someone writes something like that to you. I don't like writing. I'm better at talking. My handwriting isn't as good as yours either, so I hope you can read this and it's not too smudged. How do you get your letters so straight?

Anyway, I'm supposed to thank you for your thank-you note, which I think's a bunch of bunk because at this rate you'll thank me for this letter and then I'll have to thank you back and we'll never get anywhere. So I'll just say the chocolate was good but it was a little crushed from when you shoved the letter under the front door. That's okay though, it made it easier to split up with my folks. They say thanks too. Now none of us got to say thanks again for any of this, because it's all finished.

My hands are fine. You don't have to worry about them, they've seen worse. Don't tell my momma I said that. If Charlie makes any more trouble and I'm not around, don't take a swing, just come find me. If I'm not home check the empty lot out back of the bakery on Clark Street. That's where me and some of the kids down the block go to practice ball sometimes. You should come. Charlie's never there and if he does show his ugly face, I'll fix it so it turns some more colors for you, all right?

Don't tell momma I said that either.

Listen, Steve, you don't got to ask me about being friends. Friends don't got to ask. Trust me.

Like I said, I don't like writing so I think I'm done now but I'll see you later down at the empty lot.

Your pal,

Bucky

**  
  
  
**

Brooklyn, NY

March 10th 1931

Dear Bucky,

I know you don’t like letters but it’s your birthday today so pretend this is a birthday card and not a letter, okay? I even made you a drawing so you can pretend better. (I hope you like it. In case you can’t tell that is you playing ball. I tried drawing the others as well but I figured you wouldn’t find them as interesting as yourself. ~~I didn’t~~.)

I asked my Ma to drop the card off on her way to work, and I will see you after school for sure, but I really wanted to wish you a happy birthday as soon as possible because birthdays are the best days. I like them so much! Ma always makes me a chocolate cake, even though my birthday is in July and chocolate in July melts very fast if you don’t have a icebox, but I usually eat it right away so that’s never been a problem before.

I shouldn’t tell you this because it’s supposed to be a surprise so try to act surprised later when me and Ma pass by your place, but we made you a cake too!

It was fun making it; Ma taught me how to multiply the recipe's numbers to make it bigger, since we usually do it just for two but we thought your folks might like a piece of it as well.

Anyway Ma is ready to go so I have to cut the letter - sorry, the card - short and get ready for school.

I hope you will have a great day, I can’t wait for us to celebrate later. I saved up some and I’ll try to sneak out and buy a soda before Ma gets back from work to fetch me. She doesn’t like me drinking too much sugary stuff but it’s a special occasion and we can just keep it secret and drink it together while our folks talk about grownup stuff.

Oh, and don’t worry, you don’t even have to write me a thank you note for this, I know you’re already worrying about it. Gotta go now. Bye!

Your friend,

Steve

PS: Please don’t forget to act very surprised later okay? I trust you about this.

**  
  
  
**

Brooklyn, NY

March 12th 1931

Steve,

Momma says I have to write a thank-you note for the cake. So much for getting me off the hook. Next time, maybe don't deliver a slab of sugar the size of my head and expect my folks not to notice.

Seriously, tell your ma that cake was the best tasting thing I've ever had. Pop tries to bring home a good cut of meat for a stew for my birthdays, since it's usually so cold out and beef stew's my favorite, so I don't usually get a cake. You didn't have to do that. It was way too much. Next time, make it smaller if you have to make one. I would've been fine with the egg cream we shared after school, that was plenty.

I feel bad because now I only got until the summer to figure out something to do for you. What day in July is your birthday? You'll be 13, right? That's a big one. I'm going to save up but I won't tell you what for because unlike some people I can keep a secret. Just don't expect a big fancy letter, okay?

(I'm glad you told me what was coming, though, because otherwise I may have done something dumb, I don't know. What did you think of my act? Do you think your ma bought it? Maybe someday I'll be in the pictures.)

I really liked your drawing. It looks just like me, even Pop said so. You're getting real good at this, Steve. Your stuff could be in a museum or something one day.

Got to finish this up, momma needs my help in the kitchen.

Your pal, Bucky

**  
  
  
**

Brooklyn, NY

August 24, 1936

Dear Steve:

You know I'm no letter-writer, but none of the sympathy cards down at Woolworth's were any good. They had these sad pictures of lilies and angels on the fronts, and all I could think was how your ma would have hated the look of them. She's probably where you got your good taste from.

Damn it, I thought I knew exactly what I wanted to say, but there's nothing _to_ say, is there?

Steve, you've been a scrapper since we were little and you think you've got to be brave and good and perfect for everything, but this is one thing you don't have to do that for. I miss her so much, my other mother, just thinking about her hurts. I can't understand how it must be for you. It's got to be awful.

I'll see you at the funeral. We should talk. I have something I need to ask you and it seems to me it's something to be discussed, not written down on paper. Deep breaths, it's nothing bad. I just want you to know you don't have to be alone.

That's what friends are for, right?

Yours,

Bucky

**  
  
  
  
  
**

Brooklyn, NY

August 26, 1936

**  
  
  
**

Dear Bucky,

First of all, thank you. For everything you did for me the other day and for doing your best to not let me feel alone.

Fact is, I do feel lonely, but that’s what happens when the last member of your family dies, isn’t it? That's why I needed some time to be alone; to process it all, to think about what it’s left now that she’s gone.

Even though I know you are there, even though you told me you are and I never doubted it for a second, please understand that when I asked you to leave me alone it wasn’t out of anger.

Okay, maybe I was kind of angry, but not at you. And I know you know it, because you did as I asked and that’s what friends are for and that’s why I love you.

So first of all thank you, and secondly sorry for hiding away for a while without giving you any news.

I thought about your proposition, and I thought about how kind it is of you and your folks to be willing to take me in. Please don’t think I’m not grateful about it even though I’m refusing.   
Fact is I’m an adult now - I’m a grownup - and I wouldn’t be able to accept being a burden to your family during times like these. It wouldn't be right, you see.

With the odd jobs I’ve been taking the last few months I might be able to keep the flat, though I don’t know for how long. Ma left me something - I don’t know how she managed to, I’m afraid to think about what she had to give up for it - and even though it’s not much it will help for a while. Maybe not long, but a little while.

 

I’ve been putting her stuff away these past two days, too. There wasn’t much, really; I feel like there was almost nothing left of her behind, and it’s not fair. The place feels empty now, and I hate it. Actually even if I could I don’t think I would like to keep it, you know?  

I guess what I’m saying is, if you want to, we could move out. The both of us, find a place somewhere in the neighborhood and just, I don’t know, try to be adults together? What do you think?   
  
You must think I’m crazy, huh?   
  
I’m sorry, I don’t even know why I’m asking you to quit your family when you still have one.

Forget I wrote that, I’m still a bit confused about what I’m feeling.

I’ll talk to you soon, I still need a couple more days. Sorry.

Thank you, always.

Steve

**  
  
  
**

Brooklyn, NY

August 28, 1936

S—

I let myself in with your spare key and waited up all night for you, but it's getting to be eight o'clock now and you're still a no-show. Where do you go, Steve? I checked at the pictures and the diner and the park, under the damn bridge…. I know you need time alone, but just tell me you're not picking fights with the freaks down on Coney Island. I can't shake the feeling that you're doing something stupid and it's driving me nuts.

Of course I'm coming with you, is what I wanted to say. You're right, it's time. My folks don't need more mouths to feed. We've got to strike out on our own, like men are supposed to. I broke the news to momma and pop yesterday. They didn't like the idea, said it was foolish when money is already so tight, but I told them I can always get more shifts down at the docks. They like me down there.

I've been saving this flier I found last week at the station, never was the right time to show you. They need artists for this government project and I just know it's right up your alley. I'm leaving it here under this note so you can check it out, but a buddy of mine down at the docks said his sister got paid in cash for working on this thing, so I figure it's the real deal.

When you get this, let me know how this all sounds so we can start looking for a place. Maybe we can find something nearby that we can move into before the year's out. I know there are some buildings down by the river that I pass on my way to work that always have To Let signs in the windows. We can go together, try and pick the best rathole we can afford. I'll need that eye of yours. You're the one with all the good taste, remember?

And don't say that stuff about how I'm leaving my family by doing this, Steve. That is such a load of horseshit. Get it through that thick skull of yours: you're family. I love you, you little punk.

All right, I got to quit writing this damn novel of mine so I'm not late for work, but if you want to come find me at the docks around lunchtime I'd like to see for myself that you're all in one piece.

—B

**  
  
  
  
  
**

Brooklyn, NY

December 14, 1936

**  
  
**

Buck,

I’m going to class tonight so I don’t think I’ll see you before tomorrow morning, or even then (you go out awfully early in the morning these days, you shouldn’t work this much).

 

Seems like in two weeks we’ve been living together I have seen much less of you than usual.

I know it’s normal what with your shifts and my day job and school and I’m not complaining, it just takes some getting used to and now I’m leaving you notes like we’re not actually sharing a place.

It’s weird.

Anyway, just a note to tell you that Mrs. Mcgillycuddy in the next apartment passed by to ask if we needed anything since we’re new here. She’s a nice old lady and we talked some and in the end she gave me two oranges. I tried giving them back to her but she insisted. (I was afraid of telling her no.)

  
I actually think she thinks I won’t survive winter if I can’t get some vitamins in me, which is kind of nice of her and all but really I wish people would just stop looking at me like I’m some kind of frail kid.

You do that often enough and it gets on my nerves.

Speaking of which, thanks for bundling up with me last night. I know you thought I was asleep but I wasn’t quite, and even though you should stop worrying so much about me it was nice to get a bit warmer.

Which is why I should probably apologize from waking you up like I did in the middle of the night.

  
Sorry, I don’t know how that happened, I must have been dreaming or something and I’m — actually I really don’t want to talk about it again if it’s okay with you. I’ll just try not to do it again next time, and I’ll just sleep a little farther away, all right?

Not that I’m saying there will be a next time! I mean hopefully we’ll get the boiler fixed and the winter will not be as cold as they say or maybe I can save up and buy a new blanket so you won’t have to snuggle close and share heat and stuff.

Okay, I’m stopping now, this is too embarrassing.

I left you an orange.

Eat it, it’s good for you too.

We’ll never talk about this again.

**  
  
**

S.

**  
  
  
**

Brooklyn, NY

December 15, 1936

Christ, Steve, it happens. You don't have to make a federal case out of it. After the heat wave this last summer, we should be thanking our lucky stars for a little cold. Don't waste your money on more blankets when we're getting by fine without them.

I'm not avoiding you or whatever because of it, honest. We're just too busy right now with work, and you with school. Trust me, I wouldn't be leaving you notes like this if I didn't have to.

How about this: let's you and me do something this weekend, just the two of us. We'll beg off the usual Sunday supper with my folks and go see that new picture you've been talking about, or whatever you want to do. If it's not too cold, we could take the train into the city and walk around that lake in the park you're always sketching. It's awful only seeing you at night when you're mostly asleep. I feel like I haven't seen your ugly mug in months.

The orange was pretty good. We should do something nice for Mrs. M. I'll be on the lookout for any smashed crates and whatnot at work. I can probably manage some bananas. It's not stealing if they were going to throw them out anyway.

B.

PS: You're always saying things and then saying I should forget what you said. That's not fair, Stevie.

**  
  
  
  
  
  
  
**

Brooklyn, NY

February 18, 1938

Dear Steve,

I was hoping to catch you before work this morning but I guess you stayed out all night instead of coming home. I'm sorry for that. As soon as you took off, Katie left anyway.

It was stupid of me to bring that girl home without giving you some warning. I just didn't realize it was so late, thought you'd be in class for at least a couple more hours. But that's no excuse. I'm a rotten friend who didn't think about hanging my tie on the doorknob or something.

Thanks for not being a jerk when you opened the door. Hope it wasn't too embarrassing for you to see what you saw. Next time, I'll be sure to do the right thing and leave a damn note.

Promise I'll make it up to you.

Buck

**  
  
  
  
**

Brooklyn, NY

February 19, 1938

**  
  
**

Buck,

It’s okay, it’s not a big deal.

These things happen, and I’m used to you being a ladies man, you know? For all the dames looking at you whenever we go out I’m frankly surprised you don’t bring more of them home.   
  
Or maybe you do but your timing is usually better? Anyway, I just really hope you’re doing right by them, Buck. Show them some respect. It’s not my place and all, and from the little I saw it looked like she was doing that to you by her own choice but just, you know. You have all these dames and they all bat their lashes at you like you’re someone straight out of the pictures and it must be so nice to have that, so I really hope you’re not taking it for granted or something.

You can be real nice to people — you're nice to me all the time, even when you’re a jerk about it – I just hope you're nice to those girls as well.

And don’t go fretting about me not coming home. It’s not like I’ve been outside all night. I went to a bar to get something warm, and in the end I ended up sketching there a while.

  
People are so much more interesting when they don’t realize you’re watching them, don’t you think?

There was this couple by the counter, they were real sweet. The girl was blushing something fierce and the man looked at her like she was the stuff of his dreams. It was nice watching them; you’d think with all this country is going through, people wouldn’t want to find the time to try and be happy. But not at all, it seems to me it’s the opposite.

It wasn't very big of me, but watching that couple, I was a little bit jealous. I wish I had someone to look at me like that. Not like a dame — I know that’s what you’re thinking, you jerk — but you know? Like that.

But it’s okay because as much as that would be nice, it’s not like I’m in any rush or anything. I’m already too busy with work and school, and you are quite a handful at times, so I don’t need a girl to distract me as well.

So I’m not angry at you, stop apologizing. But next time yes, maybe put a tie out or something so I don’t have to walk on you almost naked with a girl at your knees.  

And please, call on Katie and apologize to her on my behalf as well.  

Steve

**  
  
**

{left tacked on the bathroom mirror}

Steve—

Katie already heard plenty of I'm sorrys. And holy hell, what kind of mook do you take me for? Of course the gal wasn't doing nothing she didn't want to do. Don't want to kiss and tell, but she'd gotten as good as she gave earlier, though I guess you weren't around to see that. And if you're worried about seeing a bunch of little Buckys running around, don't. I'm careful, okay?

Look, maybe me and Kate weren't mooning over each other like your fairytale couple, but we have an understanding—or I guess I should say had. I told her we should probably shake hands and call it quits, and she agreed. This doesn't have anything to do with you, just so you know. Things had been cooling off anyway.

I wish you'd said you were lonely. You think no one's ever going to look at you like that? Well, then you're a bigger idiot than I thought. If you don't want to find yourself a dame...just tell me what would help, if there's anything I can do.

—Buck

**  
  
  
  
**

{taped to the sink}

May 1938

Bucky,

We’ve talked about this.

Please — please — try not to leave the dishes overnight.

It’s starting to get hot and it smells. I don’t mind doing them, you know that, but if you say you will then please do it.

Later,

S.

**  
  
  
**

{taped to the front door}

May 1938

**  
  
**

Buck,

Just ~~another~~ a reminder to take the trash out from time to time.

S.

**  
  
  
**

{found taped on Bucky’s forehead when he wakes up}

June 1938

B,

did you step on my art supplies yesterday night when you came home? they were a mess this morning.

S.

**  
  
  
**

{left on Steve's pillow}

June 1938

DID I STEP ON THE CRAZY POINTY STUFF YOU LEFT ON THE RUG? YES I DID.

Nearly broke my goddamn neck! How about instead of nagging ME to get MY act together all the damn time, you pitch in too! Jesus Christ, Steve, it's hot as hell and I'm sweating like a hog all day, working from sun up to sun down. I will try to be a better roommate but you have got to stop trying to kill me!

**  
  
  
**

{left in Bucky’s shoes}

June 1938

**  
  
**

Okay, that's enough.

Tonight I have no classes, we’re going out. And we’re going to talk about some house rules.

Be ready by 7 pm (if you’re not too tired of course).

Have a nice day. sorry.

S.

**  
  
  
**

{weighted down on the kitchen table with a bottle of gin}

Truce.

Yours,

B.

**  
  
  
  
**

{on the chair next to the bed}

June 1938

**  
  
**

Oh God Buck,

I’m so sorry. So so so sorry.

Please don’t be ~~bad~~ mad at me?

You were not supposed to walk in on me doing — _that_. I mean, I know we talked about ties on the door and stuff but I really didn’t think about it. Stupid stupid stoopid of me.

It was hot outside and I was tired. I was just hot, you know? really hot. And then I found your note. And the bottle.

I’m sorry I started without you. On the bottle. I’m sorry I started without you on the bottle, is what I mean.

I just needed to unwind a little from the last couple of days and it seemed like a good idea. I wanted to wait for you and then I started thinking about stuff and then—

God I think I’m still drunk.

I definitely still am. ~~Shit.~~

~~Oh fuck I didn’t mean to write that.~~

Or that one either.

I hope I’ll be asleep when you get back, or dead of mortification.   
  
Please don’t hate me.   
  
And forget all about this? And burn this after reading, okay?

Oh Sweet Lord, I’m gonna throw up.

S.

**  
  
**

Brooklyn, NY

June 30, 1938

**  
  
**

S—

Are you kidding me? I'm putting this letter of yours in my wallet. That way, any time I'm having a lousy day I can take it out and remember the look on your face! Oh boy, you should've seen yourself. I don't think either of us will ever move that quick again. I had to walk around the block twice before I got my breath back.

You got to have a sense of humor about this stuff, Stevie. I'm no doctor, but I hear most everyone does it. I know I do. Hell, you've probably heard me, right? Kind of hard not to when you sleep about four feet away from a fella.

What I'm trying to tell you is, there's no shame in cutting loose every now and then, especially when you're on the sauce. And getting caught with your dick in your hand is nothing compared to what you saw me doing with that last gal. So now we're even.

It's this damn summer heat, I tell ya. We're all going a little stir-crazy, cooped up in this oven of an apartment. Some night soon, I'll take you out to a place where we can get a cool drink and listen to some tunes, okay?

—B

PS—I saw you at least saved some of the booze for me, which is awfully decent of you. Hope your head isn't killing you too bad, you big dum-dum.

**  
  
  
**

Brooklyn, NY

July 5, 1938

Steve,

I can hardly see straight but I'm writing this because I don't know if I can talk to you face to face after last night. I feel like I've gone crazy. What the hell were we drinking?

I remember the first club, the one on Lenox. And I recall the barmaid was sweet on you since it was your birthday and all. After that it gets a little blurry. You said you don't dance, but I swear I remember you….

Jesus, Steve, are you all right? Are we going to be all right? Because my head's full of champagne fizz and fireworks and wet brick walls and I know what we did but I don't know how we got to doing it. I've been wracking my brain for hours, but for the life of me I can't tell you who kissed who first. I really can't.

If it was me, if this is my fault, and you got caught up in it, I'm sorry. I was out of my mind. In an alleyway, for Christ's sake, where anyone could've seen—

And if it was you that got us there, up against those bricks, and if it was you that put your mouth on me first, then that's OK. I can't hold it against you, not when I'm supposed to be older and smarter about these things, better at holding my damn liquor.

At least we got home somehow. We were on the floor when I woke up, just so you know, with our suits and ties still on. I took off your jacket and shoes and put you to bed, but I didn't do anything else. I'm not some animal.

There's cold water in the icebox along with some bread. Get both in your stomach when you wake up, it'll help. I'm working until tonight, but when I get home we don't have to talk, okay? ~~Just act like it never~~ People do all sorts of things when they're drunk as skunks. Doesn't change the fact that I've got your back no matter what, if you still want me there.

Bucky

**  
  
  
  
  
  
**

Brooklyn, NY

July 5, 1938

**  
  
**

Bucky,

I’m not home but don’t worry, I’m not avoiding you or anything. I just needed to get out of here a little bit. I’ve been sick all day and I needed the fresh air.   
  
I don’t know, is my answer.  
  
I swear I don’t.   
  
I don’t know who started what, and to be honest I’m not sure I even care.  
  
It happened, we can move ~~on~~ away from it now. As you told me once, no need to make a federal case out of it, right? I mean, why would it be so important?   
  
Why would it be anyone’s fault anyway? Or as you say, your fault if it was you, because apparently you don’t think I should be accountable for my own actions because I’m a year younger than you are, which is a load of crap.

The little memory I have it, I don’t think I resisted anything that happened yesterday.

I can very well take responsibility for what I do. There usually is a reason, too, even if I don’t remember it. I’m not saying there is a reason for what happened other than the fact I was drunk - we were drunk -  but I don’t understand you at times. You or the way you act around me.

It gets on my nerves at times the way you’re so quick to take the blame for everything just to spare me some. I don’t think it’s fair to you, or me.

About last night, it’s just bits and pieces. I do remember the dancing, though, and I do remember I was surprised and happy about it? I don’t know, I guess I was just happy because it was my birthday and we were finally spending some time together with nothing else on our minds. So I guess yes, I made an exception and danced.   
  
You can go ahead and mock me for that if you want, I won’t mind.   
  
And I remember pieces of the alleyway as well, but not much. My head hurt like hell all day as I tried to make sense of it, and I gave up in the end because I thought that as long as I could assure you that it was nothing, that you don’t have to worry about it, that I don’t think it’ll ever happen again than we might be okay. Then you might be okay with me and I with you and we would go on as always.

Nothing has changed, right?

Nobody saw it - if anyone did I don't think we would've got home unscathed (which is horrible for all the people like that, if I can say it.)

We just drank too much, yeah?

You said it yourself, so.

By the way, you better check yourself for bruises. I have one on my back from what I think was the brick wall scraping through my shirt, and I think it’s the shape of your fingers that I have on my sides.

Check your neck below your collar. I think I - Well, nevermind. When I get home we can take a better look at it and put some cream on it.   
  
Or if you don’t feel like waiting for me for whatever reason, I’m leaving you the cream with this note.  
  
We’re okay ~~?~~.

**  
  
**

Steve

PS: thanks for the water and bread. It helped.

**  
  
**

{tacked to the icebox}

Yeah, you got me good. Don't worry, takes a lot more than that to put Bucky Barnes out of commission. I managed with the ointment myself. Hope you're not messed up too bad. ~~I wish~~

We're OK. Sorry about what I said. You're right. We're both stupid lightweights.

—B

**  
  
  
**

Brooklyn, NY

December 21, 1941

Dear Steve,

I'm at my folks' place right now, but I wanted you to be the first to know so I'm leaving you this letter.

I enlisted. Got my papers and everything.

Don't be sore with me, Steve. I thought about nothing but this for the past two weeks, ever since we got the news out of Pearl Harbor. I kept my mouth shut while you went down to the recruitment office over and over, but the fact of the matter is, you're not built for the army. That don't make you less than me, though. They need you here too. Who else is going to make all the posters that'll get the boys to sign up? You're going to get a thousand guys into the Army with those drawings of yours, I would bet on it.

You got to keep making beautiful things, Steve. Or else what the hell is it all for?

I guess hearing you talk these past few days about what's going on overseas and what's at stake— I started to feel a bit like a coward. You were so ready to fight. You've always been so ready to fight, you idiot. Me, I've done nothing but follow you ever since we was kids. That's the truth. Buckling down at school, working hard, getting a place of our own...you're always the one leading me forward.

So I figure it's time for me to do something on my own for once. But even now, it's only because you led me there.

I'm still waiting for news about Basic Training, but they said it wouldn't be till after Christmas. So we got to do it right this year, okay? A tree and pie and everything. And about the rent—I've saved up a couple month's worth. I'm giving it to you before I leave and I don't want to hear any backchat about it. It's only fair, since it may take you some time to find a new boarder. If you need one. Either way, I'll want you to drop in on my parents every so often while I'm gone just to keep an eye on them for me, but we can talk about all that later.

This is just something I got to do, Steve. Please understand.

Your friend,

Bucky

**  
  
  
**

{Telegram to the attention of Mr Barnes, James B.}

Brooklyn, NY

December 21, 1941

**  
  
**

NO

—S

**  
  
  
  
  
**

Brooklyn, NY

December 22, 1941

**  
  
**

Dear Bucky,

I waited for you this morning but I had to go to work eventually.   
  
Please forgive my telegram. It was either that or rushing to your parents’ place to punch you in the face. I know your momma likes me but that would’ve been too much even for her.

I guess the run to the post office did me some good in the end, and I regretted sending the message as soon as I walked out.

It was unfair of me.

But it was unfair of you too, to not tell me that in person. Buck, I had just talked to you, right before I left for work. I mean—

I wish you’d told me in person.

Even if I would have punched you, and kicked you maybe. But then I wouldn’t have, because I get it. I really do, and I’m jealous even if that’s low of me.

You see, sometimes you do stupid stuff and say stupid things. You’d think I’d be used to that by now but I really think you’ve outdone yourself this time. I don’t know where you get all this crap about following me, because to me if we’ve done anything at all we’ve walked the same pace.

Maybe you’re right. I’m angry at you for the way you broke the news to me, and maybe I’m not war material.  But I don’t care. I need to do my part, and my part is to go and fight like the others. Like you. It’s the right thing to do and I will do it.

I’m gonna try again tonight, and tomorrow and the day after, and I’m gonna find a way to get overseas and find your sorry ass. It’s not a matter of following as much as walking together at this point, and if we can do it in Brooklyn I don’t see why Europe would be different.

You’re bullheaded and you can be a real jerk, but a coward you are not and I’ll kick you in the nuts while sleeping if you ever dare to say that to my face. If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t even be here, and you know it.

I didn’t want to think about you enlisting but I ~~was afraid~~ should’ve known they’d take you right away. You’re the kind of man the country needs out there. You’ll stand up for others like you did for me when I was twelve and those people are as lucky as I am.

Or maybe I'm the luckiest, because I got to keep you for a while longer than what the war will hopefully last, right?

I’m getting angry again, sorry.

Keep your money for your folks, I won’t need another roommate anyway. I won’t stay long in New York, you see. You’re stupid enough to get yourself killed somewhere in Austria without me checking up on you.

I’ll bring a tree home tonight, you’re stuck with making pie.

I hate you sometimes.

Except I really really don’t.

your very angry, very proud of you friend,

Steve

**  
  
  
  
**

Brooklyn, NY

December 25, 1941

Merry Christmas, Steve. I thought about getting you a card to go along with your present, but I know you can't get enough of my sloppy handwriting, so I went with a letter instead.

Now, I know how you feel about photographs. Always saying how cameras are a "soulless medium" and whatever. But I got you this little Kodak because I thought you might want to snap some pictures before I ship out. It'd be nice to carry a piece of home with me wherever I end up, and you could even take a photo of me so you don't forget what handsome looks like.

Don't worry, I got it secondhand, it didn't cost a fortune.

I know you're still steamed about what I did. You wouldn't be you if you weren't. But I don't want to spend my last few days here walking on eggshells around you, so let's just make peace. It's Christmas, after all.

For my part, I won't tell you to quit trying to enlist. I know you wouldn't listen to me anyway. And who knows? Maybe they've got a job for you that no one else can handle. Wouldn't be surprised if your stubborn ass made it all the way up the ranks to General. But one way or another, Steve, there's a fork in the road that we can't swerve around. Guess it's all part of growing up.

Do me a favor, though, and try to look me in the face just once before I go, just long enough to take my picture. That way, you'll know you've got me—or at least, whatever part of me I can give you—and nothing can ever take that away.

Always,

Bucky

**  
  
  
  
**

Brooklyn, NY

January 2, 1942

**  
  
**

Dear Bucky,

If I’ve been stealthy enough with hiding this letter in your jacket, then by now you’re already halfway to Basic.

As I’m writing this we haven’t said our goodbyes yet, and I wish to put this down in case I won’t have a chance to tell you tomorrow.

I know you told me not to come and see you off at the station, and I won’t, but frankly I don’t get you at times. You said you’re afraid of doing something stupid right in front of hundreds of other people and your folks, but even if you would’ve hugged me, I don’t think they would have cared. It’s war, people would’ve understood. And your folks have seen us hugging since we were kids and it never bothered them.

I’m okay with saying goodbye at our place though, it seems quite fitting. And it’s not like I’m worried I won’t see your ugly face soon enough anyway.

Speaking of which, I developed the first roll of film. I take back anything I’ve ever said about cameras by the way, this is an amazing gift you got me (not as amazing as the set of paints for my 13th birthday but almost quite!).

So here is how I’m sending you off: this in the envelope is the very first picture we took. I know it’s out of focus and maybe my hands were shaking from the cold or something, but I thought we looked pretty good. I must say for once I’m the handsomer of the pair, as you’ll notice I’m smiling like a hero. I suppose I was just really proud of making the thing work.

Anyway, you would’ve looked a lot better if you could have just turned your head to the camera in time instead of staring at me with that stupid grin of yours.

Don’t forget how you promised me you’d write me more. Your handwriting still needs some work.

Good luck. Stay safe.

Still proud of you,

Steve

PS: I would apologize about striking midnight on New Year’s Eve with me instead of a sweet dame dangling from your arm, but the choice was yours and anyway I’m not even a little bit sorry, ~~just sad we didn’t get drunk this time.~~

**  
  
  
  
**

Camp McCoy, WI

January 18,1942

Dear Steve,

Sorry I haven't had a chance to write until now, but they bust our asses from one end of the week to the next around here. I knew this wouldn't be a cakewalk by any stretch but I sure as hell didn't expect to ache so damn much. I'm sore in muscles I didn't even know I had.

I found your photograph in my uniform's pocket, you little sneak. You're so wrong, by the way. I look fantastic. I try to look at the photo in the evenings before lights out. Gives me something good to think about, you know, to take my mind off things. New Year's feels like it was ages ago. It's easy to lose track of a lot of things in this place.

The other guys here are OK. Lot of them are from the neighborhood too. They're always asking me if I got a gal and what she's like, so I make up a new name for them every time. I think the best one yet was Maggie O'Hare of the Red Hair, they laughed at that one good and long. Truth is, Steve, seems like I'm the only fella in the barracks who doesn't have a sweetheart waiting for him back home. Gets to be lonely, I guess, but it's my own damn fault for not being serious with one dame for any length of time.

Goddamn it, I didn't mean for this letter of mine to turn into such a dud. I'd rip it up and start over if paper weren't in such short supply around here. And also, my eyes are getting heavy. I'm not sure I can stay awake to write another.

Just write me back and tell me what's happening at home. My folks have sent me two letters since I got here but they were so short and didn't say anything but happy-cheery things. I know you'll give it to me straight. What's showing at the pictures this week? What are people saying about Europe? How are your new classes going, and what are you working on next at the office? Anyone asking about me? Tell me anything. I need something else to think about besides how bad my arms and legs hurt.

Yours,

Bucky

**  
  
  
  
  
**

Brooklyn, NY

January 22, 1942

**  
  
**

Dear Bucky,

I just came home from class and found your letter in the letterbox; it made my day much better, even though I wish training wasn’t so hard on you. I suppose it’s to be expected anyway, but if you are having a tough time with it I can’t even imagine what it’ll do to me (and I’m not inviting you to chip in on this one, thank you.)

Here everything is okay. Your folks are well but they miss you dearly. I try to go to their place every couple of days, and your momma wouldn’t stop telling me how much she’s scared for you. Your pop is awfully proud though, and he keeps telling her to try and be happy that her son is going off to be a hero.

Bucky, I love your dad like he was mine but please don’t go and make yourself a hero unnecessarly. Your mother would not approve.

I’m sending you a package with some of the ointment you used to give me when I got my muscles sore from beating people up (still not asking you to add anything to this. thank you). I hope that helps. Remember that you should rub it on your skin until it warms up for better effect.

Work is fine. I’m trying to do some extra jobs when I can find them, and I’m thinking to quit art classes for a while so I can get more done. I know you won’t approve, but these are times to make some sacrifices and I can always get back to school once the war is over.   
There is a nice gal who works at the secretary station down the hall that happened to see some of my drawings, and she looked impressed. Said I had talent, which I know is something you’ve been telling me for a while but I suppose when it’s a lady telling you this the words are a bit more charming.   
Anyway I know what you’re thinking but she’s engaged to be married to a nice fella working two floors up, and I know she was just being honestly nice.

I haven’t got much time or money to spare to go to the pictures, but I’ve been reading good reviews for this one ‘Citizen Kane’. If it’s still showing by the time you get your first leave maybe we can go and watch it together? Unless you’d rather go to a dance hall, of course.

Bucky, don’t go on thinking that because everyone has a sweetheart and you don’t you’re at fault or something. I suppose that if you haven’t wanted to see a gal for a while it only means they weren’t right for you, and I’m sure you’ll find someone you like so much you’ll want to marry some day. Maybe a nurse or something. Someone really sweet, and a real beauty as well. Real smart. And you will marry and you’ll be happy and I’ll be so very happy for you, really.

It doesn’t do you any good to think about what you don’t have now, so think about your folks, about me and about the other friends you have left here who really miss you a lot.

I have to go now. I never noticed how freezing our place was until you moved, and these days I’m boiling water to take a warm bath every night or else I know I’ll freeze to death (joking).   
I finally bought that extra blanket we kind of always needed, because sleeping with mittens and three pairs of socks is unbecoming.

I miss you too.

Yours,

Steve

**  
  
**

Brooklyn, NY

March 10, 1942

**  
  
**

Dear Bucky,

Happy Birthday!

I couldn’t let it pass without wishing you the best of days.

My gift is very simple and won’t take a lot of space. I thought you might like it if I took a walk around the neighborhood and took a picture of anything that reminded me of you, or that might remind you of us.  
  
It's not for right now - you’ve only been gone for a little while - but there might be a time in the future when you’re feeling homesick and this might help then.

This is meant to cheer you up, okay?

As I was taking the pictures I of course ran into people from around here, and when they asked me why I would waste time taking pictures of the back alley behind the baker’s shop I told them. They all send you their love Buck, and they wish you a happy birthday as well.  
  
But I do most.

Your friend,

Steve

Camp McCoy, WI

March 16, 1942

Dear Steve,

Sorry I haven't kept up with our correspondence as good as you have. That cream you sent worked like a charm. The guys gave me some grief about the smell, but after I let them try some, they shut up pretty quick. And all the photos you sent for my birthday were a real pick-me-up. I'll hold onto them for sure, as they should come in handy.

Listen, this week they pulled me out of the usual obstacle course run and gave me a rifle. Said I looked like I had a good eye. Turns out, I do. I managed to pick off a target at 200 yards, so the drill instructor told me they might train me on sniper ops. Fingers crossed that I make the cut. To be honest, anything to get me out of running another mile in the mud sounds like heaven.

Between you and me, this is the first time since I got here that I feel like maybe I'm heading in the right direction. Do you know what I mean? Probably not. You've always known what you're about, Steve. But when I look through that scope, and it's just me and whatever's in the distance, it's like it gets all quiet inside my head for a little while.

You've got to see this rifle they've got me on, Steve. A real beauty, these M1's. I started the week knowing jack about it, and now I feel like I could take it apart and clean her in my sleep. I don't want to get ahead of myself or anything, though. Still got to show them I can shoot.

Now what's this about quitting school? You're the one that said you couldn't improve without applying yourself. Is it the money? Because I don't know how many times I got to tell you, there's a stack with your name on it at my folks' place. They know it's what I owe you, so please just take it if that's the problem.

But if you ask me, you don't really need classes anymore. You're already way better than those snobby old professors and stuck-up rich kids.

Still, whatever you need the money for, it's there. I swear, if it's still sitting in my momma's dresser when I get home on my furlough, I will stuff it down your skinny throat. And for Pete's sake, ask her for some of my old clothes too. There's got to be something that'll fit you, or at least keep you warm at night. You're not allowed to shiver to death without me, okay?

Speaking of my furlough, yeah, let's catch that flick when I'm back in town, if the trains can get me in on time. Forget the dance hall, I'll snag us a pair of sweeties and we'll take them to that big fair Stark's putting together out in Queens. For one night only, the Rogers & Barnes double act won't be a lonely pair of creeps. The way you talk about every lady who gives you a passing compliment, it sounds like you need it. No buts. There are plenty of guys in the 107th with sisters who need escorts to this shebang. Consider it a done deal.

It's getting to be lights out so I'll say goodbye now. Warm thoughts, all right? For the both of us.

Yours,

Buck

**  
  
  
  
  
**

Brooklyn, NY

March 30, 1942

**  
  
**

Dear Bucky,

It took me a little longer than usual to write back to you because things are getting crazy busy here.

I’ve started running in the mornings whenever the weather will let me. I've tried to get started on some training in case they finally let me enlist. I squeeze at least half an hour in before I have to get ready to work, and I already feel much fitter.   
  
Work is still all right, they like my art well enough that they raised my pay a little. Really not by much, but it’s enough.

Listen Buck, I don’t know what you wrote to your folks but your momma has been insisting that I stay over for dinner at least once, sometimes twice a week. I don’t have the heart to refuse, but really I don’t want to be a burden to them. It’s like they think I’m letting myself waste away without you or something.

Your father even told me not to quit my classes. Your father, Buck. He lectured me on the importance of expressing oneself through art.

I know what you’re doing so just stop it.

(I didn’t quit my classes, wouldn’t risking disappointing them.)

I’ve heard about this fair Mr. Stark is putting up; sure we could go. But please, for the love of all that’s dear to me, stop trying setting me up with your friends’ sisters, cousins or whatever.   
You know how well that usually turns out and anyway I don’t have time for that. Even without you here taking up half my time I still have so much to do.

I’m doing push ups as well before I go to sleep. I’m up to 17 in a row; not bad, huh? Still far from holding a rifle, but I don’t think I’m sniper material anyways. As much as I’m set on going to war I’m not looking forward to the moment when I might have to shoot someone.

I can understand you when you talk about things getting quiet when you find your thing. That’s drawing for me. I wish to hell it was something other than a rifle for you, though. No use for that after the war is over.

Buck, what is it in your head that needs to get quiet?

I know it’s stupid, and promises are for kids, but promise me one thing: don’t use this as an excuse, even at the worst of moments.

I don’t know why I’m saying this, I don’t mean to be disrespectful. I know you’re no bully the same as I know I probably won’t make it to the front to fight with you. Just be sure that when everything goes quiet, you don’t get stuck in there forever, yeah?

By the way, your momma gave me a couple of your sweaters to sleep in.

You will never see me wearing them because I know I'd never hear the end of it.

Write me back when you’ll know when you get back to town, it’s been three months and I don’t remember your face.

(That is not true. I have ~~sketches~~ photos.)

**  
  
**

Love,

Steve

**  
  
**

Camp McCoy, WI

April 9, 1942

Steve—

You think I'm itching to put one of these bullets in an actual person? I can't tell you how it's got my stomach in knots. They tell you as long as you get all the movements down pat, you'll be able to pull the trigger when it really matters. But deep down, Stevie, I'm worried I'll choke. Plugging holes in dummies is one thing. A living man….it's a whole other ballgame. I've been thinking about it a lot lately, the closer my ship-out date gets.

Look, maybe I came across as a little over-excited in my last letter. You know how it is, when you finally figure out what you're good at. And yeah, it'd be nice if my thing was tap dancing or woodcarving or doing sums, but it's not. It's shooting. And I got to hope I can hack it out in the field, because if I don't, it's my squad's life on the line. I promise you, I'm not some mindless machine with murder on the brain.

Don't you worry about my head. It's full of all the same junk as anyone's, I'm sure. Old memories and thoughts, couldas and shouldas and why didn't I's? Thinking about those last ones a whole lot these days too.

My momma sent me a letter last week, didn't have pop chime in, just her. But she sounded wrecked, Steve. The ink's all smeared in spots. She asked me if I wasn't sure there was some job I could take with the Army on the homefront or something. She said she heard a rumor that I could request something like that. I know she's just worried that— Christ, no one comes out and says it, even here where it would make the most sense to talk about it, but some of us won't be coming back. I don't know if I'll be one of them. I'm not God and I don't know what's in the cards.

I told momma I was going to be careful, that they weren't sending us anywhere too dangerous. Please don't tell her that was a lie. I just can't stand the thought of her worrying herself sick. That's why I told them to keep having you over for supper. Distract them, talk to them about anything, it doesn't matter. Just let them think they're doing you a favor when really you're doing one for me.

Anyway, this is all to say I don't look forward to killing anyone but I also don't want them killing me. I know that sounds like a terrible thing to say. I've tried to convince myself I'm not scared of dying, but it doesn't seem to stick.

I'll go crazy if I think about it too much, so I don't let myself think about it.

Sorry, I can't write to any of the other folks back home about this stuff. You're the only one who'd understand, I think, but that doesn't mean I should dump it all on you. I want to tell you good things when I write to you because you do the same for me. Which sweaters did you snag, Steve? Boy, I'd love to see a picture of that! You in my old moth-bitten wooly with the sleeves dangling past your hands… Swing that for me, would you?

I like the pictures you sent in the last letter, but I'd rather see some more of you. The one of the river is nice. Were you up on the roof? At sunrise? Hope you're getting enough sleep.

I told you about the girls, it's already taken care of, no backing out now. Besides, you got to show off those new muscles of yours, huh? You can't see my face as this is a letter but I'm just teasing. I'm glad you're feeling better.

I have some advanced rifle training to get through this month, and then I'll be home on the 16th of May. I only have that Saturday night and the following Sunday for a furlough, and then I've got to be on the boat first thing Monday morning. Momma and Pop have me all day Sunday for a big to-do with my aunts and uncles and cousins. I couldn't get out of the damn thing. But Saturday night, you and me, we'll paint the town red.

By the time you see me next, I'll be Sergeant James B. Barnes, so you better start learning how to salute.

Just promise me you'll still call me Bucky no matter what. You got that?

With love,

B.

**  
  
**

Brooklyn, NY

April 21, 1942

**  
  
**

Dear Bucky,

Just a quick one since I’ll see you in less than a month.

You don’t have to worry about your folks, I’m doing my best to make it right by them. I try to keep your Pop occupied playing chess, try to make your Momma laugh.   
It’s not the same without you here for anyone, but I’ve got your back.

More importantly, Buck, you know that you can trust me with anything you want to tell me, right? There is nothing I wouldn’t listen to, and nothing I would judge you for. Never apologize for talking to me, not when you talking to me made all the difference when we were little.

We’ll talk more when you get back.   
  
I wish we had our own telephone line.

For the moment stop thinking about what might happen. You’re not allowed to die a hero and leave me behind anyway. That would be real crappy of you.

Your friend always,

Steve

PS: Seriously, Buck, how can you even think I’d ever call you anything else?

**  
  
**

Brooklyn, NY

May 16, 1942

Dear Steve,

Sorry I let myself into the old place without asking, but I wanted to leave something with you and I didn't think it would be a good idea to do this at the Expo in front of Connie and her cousin. Might spoil everyone's good time. Maybe you were right about not bothering with the dames tonight. I know how nervous you get around girls, but it's too late to change plans. We'd be a couple of heels if we ditched them now, you know?

Anyway, consider this a private goodbye. I'm not one for prayers, you know that, but maybe every so often, you could think of me while I'm gone. And I'll be thinking of you. Might not help anything, of course, but it would really ease my mind.

I know I said I wouldn't give you any more grief about trying to enlist, but there's no shame in quitting a fight that you can't win. Believe me, if I could have you by my side through all this, I would—damn selfish of me, too. But that's sacrifice for you. Please just take care of yourself here at home. I need to know you'll be OK while I'm not here.

I'll see you soon. And until I do, I'll miss you.

All my love,

Bucky

**  
  
  
  
  
**

{undelivered and unread}

Camp Lehigh, NJ

May 28, 1942

**  
  
**

Dear Bucky,

I hope this letter finds you well.

I don’t know where you will be when you receive it, but I’m sending it through airmail and addressed to the 107th, so I’m confident you’ll get it.

Please don’t be mad at me. Please.

Don’t be disappointed when I tell you that I didn’t listen to you and went ahead. I enlisted. And then of course I found your letter on the table (we always seem to have the best timing, huh?).

Funny thing is they took me.   
  
As strange as it might seem they said I might just be the man America needs, and even though I can’t really see how that could be I’m willing to take any chance I get to do my part in this war.

You understand me, right? You wouldn’t hate me for doing this, knowing I’ve been wanting to from the moment I heard how bad things were going overseas? You would not despise me for insisting where most people would avoid, right? No, you wouldn’t.   
  
You know me well enough, and if you really love me as you say, if you’re really such a friend — a _brother_ — as I always believed you were to me then you’ll be angry for a while and then forget it, and you’ll be happy for me. Or as happy as you can be for a friend stepping into war.

I’ve been that, I’ve done it before you haven’t I?

I know you won’t think me as ungrateful for wanting to risk my life for this. It’s the right thing to do. I should do it as much as anyone else.

But believe me Buck, as much as I want to do right by my country, by the people who are suffering and all the men and women working to make it better, this who count as much a victory to me if I lose you over it.

So please, please just write me a line if you can to tell me you understand.

I don’t know yet what they have in store for me here. It seems like it will be some basic training for a while and then something more specifically focused on my body.

They don’t tell me much, but this doctor who’s been following through my physicals seems an honest person, and I suppose they will vaccine me or something.

I’ll know more in a couple of days.

For now I just needed to tell you that I’m in, and I honestly don’t know how you ever thought I would give up on this to leave you alone out there.

I do pray for you, you know. I pray for all of us, but you especially. And not because you asked me to, even. This will probably make you laugh and that’s why I never told you but I’ve been doing it since the very first time we met. Even when we lived together, and even when you were right there snoring next to me I prayed that nothing ever happened to you.

For a long time I was scared that you would hurt yourself too bad defending me, and I don’t know if I could have ever have forgiven myself for it.

So yes, I do pray for you. Maybe not in the same godfearing way I did when we were little, but as long as I think of you and hope you’re safe it still counts.

Stay safe. Save me a spot.

Always,

Steve

**  
  
  
**

{undelivered and unread}

London, England

June 2, 1942

Steve—

You will notice that the letter you hold in your hands is complete and in one piece, no cut-outs or ink blots from the censors. That is because yours truly has volunteered for the truly awful job of censoring the 107th's letters to and from home, and hardly anyone ever tries to censor the censor. Being an officer has its perks, if you can call wading through a dozen badly written love letters every day a perk.

At least it means I can send you this, reasonably sure that no one else will see it. Not that I'm going to spill Ally secrets or anything, of course— I just like the idea of us writing to each other without someone else nosing in, is all.

Knock on wood that you even get this. The mail in and out of here has been spotty. I've been on the lookout for anything from you, but so far, bupkis. Well, you might be busy or your letters could be stuck on a boat in the Channel, who knows?

Not that I'm nagging you to write me daily! It just really lifts the boys' spirits whenever we get mail, and every little bit counts.

Wish I could tell you I was doing something exciting, but so far it seems to be a lot of hurry-up-and-wait. I'm getting a little antsy waiting for the hammer to fall. I wish the higher-ups would tell us what we're supposed to be doing and where we're going to do it.

If you can, though, write me and tell me what you're doing and what's happening with everyone back home. Tell me what the weather's like, all of it, I don't care. I'm feeling homesick for the stupidest things. Like the bad coffee down at the diner or the way the subway shakes you off your feet if you're not standing solid enough. I even think about that look on your face from that one time—you remember the time, right? Still makes me laugh. Still have that letter of yours from back then in my billfold. That and the snapshots you sent me, of course.

Paper is like gold in this place so I better wrap this up. Sorry I had to use both front and back of the sheet; hopefully you can still read my chicken-scratch.

Yours,

Bucky

**  
  
  
**

{undelivered and unread}

Kansas City, MO

June 16, 1942

**  
  
**

Dear Bucky,

You will never guess what it is I’m doing with my life these days.   
  
When I wrote you last I broke you news of me enlisting and I was afraid you’d worry sick about me, but I needn’t have bothered. Turns out I’m not risking my life at all, so wherever you are can calm down. Which makes me think: where are you? I haven’t received any answer from you and I really hope it’s because my letter got lost somewhere in the ocean and not because you’re still angry at me. Or worse.

So while you and half the young men of America are out there fighting for freedom, here I am: a walking, talking propaganda tool touring the States to lift our Nation’s spirit up.   
  
I told you about the doctor I met at the recruiting center right? Well Dr. Erskine changed my life. I’m not so sure he did for the better yet, but you’d be surprised with what he did to the scrawny Steve you know. I thought all they were gonna do to me was give me vitamins and some training, but instead they turned me into some kind of— I don’t know. I’m not even sure what I am, really.

Tell me something Buck, did you and the other soldiers hear about Captain America? If not yet, you should be prepared to be surprised when you see my face behind the cap. They gave me a fake shield and all; lines to deliver on stage and my own USO dancers backing me up.

It’s weird and exhilarating to have people cheer for me, clap their hands as I fake-punch Hitler to the floor.

You wouldn’t recognize me if you saw me. My heart doesn’t beat to his old tune, my lungs are all healed up and I’m almost sure I have a couple of inches on you now. I can lift 200 pounds no problem and I can run 20 miles without stopping for a breath.

You’d be surprised about what science can do these day. And you’d be relieved not to have to worry about protecting me so much anymore.

I know this sounds incredible, and in case the newsreels haven’t gotten to you yet I’m sending you a picture of myself, cap and all.

I wish you could see me now. Girls come talking to me, children want to be like me, men want to be my best friends. It seems like I’m a complete different person when really I’m still the same.  
Still don’t talk to girls easily, if that’s what you’re thinking.   
  
Although I met this woman at training camp and Bucky, she’s a force of nature. Her name is Peggy and she’s as beautiful as she’s smart. I like her a lot, and I think she likes me as well. We write each other letters as I tour around, and we’ll be trying to see each other again before I leave for Europe for the next part of the tour.

I hope to see you soon, so you can meet her. You’d like her, I promise.

Steve

  
  
{undelivered and unread}

107th Infantry encampment, front lines

July 6, 1942

Dear Steve,

I just found out I missed your birthday. I meant to send you a letter in time but I lost track of the days. Sorry, that was lousy of me.

Still haven't heard from you. Where you been? What's going on? You forgotten all about your old pal Buck? Or are the oceans as full of Nazis as they're saying, and the mail just won't come….

Wouldn't be surprised if that was the case, given the state of my trench. I'm not too worried about the censors, like I said, so I'll be honest: it's Hell out here. I thought I was ready for whatever Hitler's goons could throw at us, but it's not just that, Steve. It's not just that. It's seeing people made into meat, into pieces of what they used to be. Our boys and theirs, too. The stench of it gets into your clothes and grabs hold of your throat, makes you sick. Some nights I can't sleep, I just stare up at whatever's passing for a ceiling and I play it all back in my brain like the worst motion picture you've ever seen.

I keep telling myself, if Steve were here he wouldn't flinch. If Steve were here, he'd tell me to pull myself together and do my job. If Steve were here, if Steve were here— I know I said I don't pray, but in the absence of a rosary, this has become a kind of hymn. Keeps me brave, or at least what passes for brave, which I figure is good enough.

We grew up hard, the two of us. I got to remember, this is just one more hard thing I have to do. There's nothing for it.

The nights I can get my eyes closed for a few hours, I think about your little bed in Brooklyn and how we used to roll up together like puppies under the covers. I remember when you got sick every so often, how I'd hold a cool, damp cloth to your head and let you shake it out. I can smell your hair under my nose, the way it would be when we'd fall asleep like that. How I'd wake up before you did, sometimes, and get to see your face, like a perfect copy of those statues you showed me over at the museum. There were mornings where I'd put my hand to your chest just to make sure you were still breathing. I think about that. All the time.

Life wasn't perfect, sure, but we were clean and warm. I'd give anything to be clean and warm for just a few minutes right about now. ~~I'd give anything to~~

Try to understand, Steve, the way things are over here, I got to keep something inside me for myself. I don't know how to say it better than, you're it for me. You're it.

And if any bastard censor gets ahold of this and wants to make trouble, he's welcome to come and find me. I'll be the guy carrying the loaded rifle.

Write me if you can, Steve. Take care of my folks. Tell them I love them. Say it just like that: I love you, I love you, Bucky loves you.

The light's going. We're moving out soon. I may not have a chance to write you for a while. Keep thinking of me.

Always,

B.

**  
  
  
  
  
**

{undelivered and unread}

Denver, CO

July 7, 1942

**  
  
**

Dear Bucky,

I haven’t had any letters from you yet, but I’ve been moving around a lot these past few weeks so that might be why. I hope I’ll receive one soon.  
  
Even if it's only a couple of lines, I just need to know that you're fine. The more time passes the more I feel I really need to talk to you.

  
Not of anything in particular. I just need to talk to my friend.

Too many people around me these days, and I’ve never felt more lonely.

  
They all crowd around me like I’m some kind of hero, and it seems like everyone suddenly wants to spend time with me. But it’s a lie, Buck. And I’m no hero.   
  
I’m just a puppet dressed in red, white, and blue, and though I know in my head that people back here need this too, I feel like I’m doing nothing compared to what you and all the others over there are doing.

For all I thought I was gonna make the difference, I'm really really not.  
  
We will soon be shipping to Europe to tour the regiments stationed there. They don’t tell us nothing here of what's really happening; we know people are fighting but we don’t know how. We don’t know really what you’re going through, and anything going out to the general public is filtered through patriotism and that kind of hopeful heroism they want the American people to be proud of.  
  
And I am part of this.

Each night I preach to children and their folks about the importance of loving your Country, of the honor in dying for it, and yet after the show I sleep in a bed. I have hot supper and covers if I need them.  
  
I doubt you have that.   
  
They call me Captain without me even trying to earn the title, and yet they act like it’s me leading America to war and not you guys.  
  
I hope you will forgive me for this farce when I see you next. For all you must be doing over there, it’s not your name on the propaganda flyers and it’s not your face they see.   
  
I do, though.

Changing the subject, Peggy and I are still writing to each other with a certain frequency. She knows who I am and so she knows exactly where to address them, so I never missed one. Maybe next time it would be useful to for you to add Captain America to my name?

I talked about you to Peggy, told her some of what we’ve been up to since we were kids. She says I shouldn’t worry too much, that from what I’ve told her you seem like someone who can take care of himself.

And I didn’t even tell her how well you took care of me, so I guess there’s that. I’ll try not to worry so much.  
  
But write me. I miss talking to you so much I sometimes reread your letters just to have a sense of your voice in my head.

  
Which is ridiculous.

Stay safe.

Your friend always,

Steve

**  
  
**

{written on a piece of cloth, hidden on Bucky's person, later retrieved by an Allied medic}

If you find my body and can send my tags back home, tell my parents I want S. to have them.

Si vous trouvez mon corps et pouvez envoyer mes tags à la maison, dire à mes parents que je veux S. de les avoir. -Sgt. James B. Barnes of the 107th

**  
  
  
  
  
**

{left on a chair beside the cot}

Allied Base Camp, Italian front lines

September 13, 1942

**  
  
**

Buck,

You’ve been asleep for almost six hours now. I’ve tried my best but I can’t put off Col. Phillips much longer, so I’m leaving this here in case you wake up before I come back.

There are many things we have to talk about. So many.   
  
I finally got the letters you wrote me. I suppose you never got mine since you kept sending them to Brooklyn, and they’ve been there since I left. Mrs. McGillicuddy kept them for me, didn’t know where to post them to, so when I finally got to spend two days at home and collect my things before shipping to Europe she gave them to me.  
  
"They’re from the nice fella you used to live with," she said. "He’s in my thoughts since he left."

And so I realize you never knew what was happening back home, and how alone you must have felt.

I regret so many things now reading through your words. I don’t know how many times I’ve gone through the letters on my way here, and the more I read them more I wanted to reach through the page and speak to the Bucky that was writing.

You know nothing about the serum. Nothing about Captain America, really. You don't know Captain America, I realize, and I hate it.

The way you looked at me when I found you in Zola’s lab I swear it seemed like you were seeing a ghost. Did it shock you that much? I should think it did.

We didn’t have the time to talk about it on the way here, but I watched you in the days it took us to get back to camp. The way you took a step away from me; how you talked to me as little as necessary without even looking at me in the eyes.

I’ve wanted to talk to you so much these past months and now that I have you here again, alive, I long for the moment you’ll be awake and well enough to do it.   
  
There is so much I have to tell you. So many things you need to hear from me.  
  
You almost died, Buck.   
  
You almost died and I hated you for a second because you’re not supposed to do that to your best friend.   
  
I thought you were okay, or as okay as you can be in the trenches, but I never thought-   
I never imagined I might not see you again. Even though it’s war, and death is a very real threat, it was always like I thought we were above it, you know?   
  
That is the problem with all the crap they made me say and repeat all over again about the war, how it is unrealistically presented, how our men and women are heroes and heroes cannot ever really die and Buck, _YOU almost died_.

I’m not supposed to do anything without you at my side, walking at the same pace.   
  
You know that.  
  
I have to go, Phillips wants to go over attack plans on the Hydra bases.

I’ll be here when you wake up, Buck, I promise. And if by any chance I’m not, you’ll find this letter to keep you company for a little time.  
  
Forgive me for all the time I’ve missed so far.

Yours always,

Steve

PS: Nobody took your tags, Buck. If you want me to have them you’ll give them to me when we get home. This is another thing to talk about when you feel up to it.

**  
  
  
**

{slipped into Capt. Rogers' duffle bag}

Allied Base Camp

September 16, 1942

Steve:

They're letting me get up and about since this morning, even though I told the docs I was fine days ago. Walked out of that Hydra facility on my own, stupid not to give the bed to the kids who were hurt worse than me. A couple of those miles we walked may have been spent leaning on you, I guess, but that's not the point.

I hear you're forming a squad of your own. Count me in. Those Hydra sons of bitches won't even see us coming. I owe them a taste of their own medicine.  

About my letters that you just got: don't read too much into them. I was in a bad way when I wrote them, especially that last one. Seeing them all in one big chunk, you might think I was more torn up than I really am. Besides, I'm alive. (Thanks to you.) Can't ask for more than that, right?

Sometimes I wonder if I'm actually still strapped to that table, and I'm just imagining that you're here, that you're as strong on the outside as you always were on the inside, that you're called Captain America now. It sounds like a crazy dream when you lay it all out, doesn't it? I swear I'll wrap my head around it eventually, it's just...you been my little Stevie my whole life; give me at least a week to let the new you sink in.

About your letters: you won't believe it, but I just got them. Every single one of them, stacked all neat and wrapped in twine, envelopes already sliced open. And guess who handed them to me? Agent Carter.

That lady is really something, Steve. She visited me in the med tent yesterday and dropped them in my lap, as cool as you please. I asked her what the hell she was doing with them and she said it was a matter of national secrecy. Turns out you're more than just a little taller and stronger. You're a, what did she call it...an investment.

I didn't like the sound of that, and I told her so. She said—pretty honestly, I guess—that the Germans want to figure out what makes you tick, to make their own battalion of Captain Deutschlands. The Army couldn't have any details about you falling into enemy hands. And your letters, they were chock full of details. But Agent Carter said the cat's out of the bag now, what with you running around with a big star on your chest like a goddamn target. So she figured it wouldn't hurt to give me the letters now.

Hate to admit it, but she was right to keep them. Don't be angry with her for messing with your mail, or for reading them. She likes you, I can tell from the way she talks, but she's got a job to do.

Anyway, ~~Peg~~ Agent Carter got us a little whiskey to share while I combed through all the stuff you've written to me over the last few months. She offered to leave me alone while I read them, but I said I didn't mind the company. When I got to the parts you'd written about her, she teased me, said I could read the letters you'd sent her if I wanted so we'd be even.

Steve, this woman is the real deal. I knew you'd find her someday. The circumstances are not what I'd pictured, but you can't fault me for that. No one could've known you'd be an American hero when you grew up, or that we'd be in this mess. The war, I mean.

I'm so proud of you. Don't let this one go. Don't let anything I put in those damn letters of mine ever stop you from being happy. You understand me?

And before you ask, of course I'll be your best man. But if it's all the same to you, let's wear our uniforms instead of those stuffy penguin suits, okay?

Look in on me at my tent after you're done reading this; I want to hear about these plans you're hatching for our next move.

Your pal always,

B.

**  
  
  
**

{put next to Bucky’s belongings}

Allied Base Camp

September 16, 1942

**  
  
**

Dear Bucky,

They told me you are seeing the medic for a last check up before you’re cleared for good, so I’ll just leave this here until I see you. I feel like I haven’t stopped for a moment since we came back.

I’ll come to the point: whatever it is you’re not telling me, for whatever reason, I wish you would be honest with me. I don’t know what I did to make you think you had any reason to write that last note of yours. You have every right to step away from this thing between us if that's really what you want, but I’d be lying if I didn’t tell you I that wish you wouldn't.

I promise you, I’m not reading anything into your letters except what you want me to. It’s up to you. It’s always been up to you, just say the word.

Peggy came to talk to me earlier. She seems to think we have some unresolved issues we need to straighten out and I agree. I wish it was any other time and any other place so we could just close a door and have ten minutes to ourselves without a war raging on around us.   
  
But doors are scarce around here so I just hope to find a moment later on when we can talk, before we get ready to ship home. Or even when we do ship home, as long as we’re away from here.

Until then, our focus can only be on the mission. We do not have much choice, and I regret it.  

Buck, just a few days ago they told me you were probably dead. All the chest pains I ever had in my life never amounted to the pain that thought gave me.

That must count for something.

Yours,

S.

Copy:

{Innsbruck, 50 km from the Austrian-German border into German territory}

September 23, 1943

From: Cpt. America

To: Col. Phillips

Final report:

Hydra base neutralized.

We did not suffer any losses. Three men taken into custody for further interrogation, but I suspect they will not be of great use. Will deliver them to the next allied base; to watch closely in case of shellshock or possible suicide.   
No artillery found, only documents re: possible development of laser arms. Find them adjoined to this report.  
Moving to next target, expect report 8 to 10 days from now.

**  
  
**

Copy:

{110 km from Nuremberg, Germany}

October 1, 1943

From: Cpt. America

To: Col. Phillips

Final report:

Scout sent at 0400 hours, base attacked at 0630 hours. Neutralized.   
5 casualties, 3 deceased. None of our men.   
Evidence suggests this base to be used to carry on scientific experiments on humans for possible drug induced enhancement.

Sgt. Barnes was able to recognize and catalogue some of the instruments and their use.   
Samples are adjoined to this report for further inspection.  
Moving to next target, report to be expected in 16 to 18 days.

**  
  
  
**

Copy:

{Nowy Tomysl, 100 km from German-Polish border into Polish territory}

October 20, 1943

**  
  
**

From: Cpt. America

To: Col. Phillips

Final report:

Hydra base neutralized.

1 wounded soldier, Private Gabriel Jones. Minor bullet wound to left arm, recovery time unnecessary.

No casualties, prisoners local into allied hands.   
Collected whereabouts of a previously unknown Hydra base in Russian territory.

Moving to next target, next report to be expected in 15 to 17 days.  

**  
  
**

Copy:

{Sianno, 250km N-E from Minsk, USSR}

November 6, 1943

From: Cpt. America

To: Col. Phillips

Final report:

Hydra base already destroyed upon arrival.

2 bodies in advanced state of decomposition found, probable COD: self induced poisoning. No other survivors.   
All documents destroyed. All weapons destroyed.   
Moving further into Russian territory for next target, report to be expected in 10 to 12 days.

**  
  
  
  
**

Copy:

{Bologoye, 200 km N-N-W from Moscow, USSR}

November 24,1943

 

From: Cpt. America

To: Col. Phillips

Final report:

Base neutralized.   
No survivors. Probable medical base like the one near Nuremberg. Found blood samples shipped to be analyzed along with Russian language folders seemingly documenting human experimentation.   
To be investigated further.

Last of the known bases. Uncovered intel on Zola’s next movements on the Austro-Italian front.  

Aerial support reached by radio, the commando will fly back tomorrow to debrief with Gen. Phillips on a possible offensive action in order to capture Zola for interrogation.   
Expected arrival to base in 2 to 3 days.

**  
  
**

Copy:

{Telegram from the Central Eastern Alps, unknown village along an Austro-Italian railroad}

December 3, 1943

From: Cpt. America

To: Col. Phillips, of the 107th regiment, allied forces

Final report:

Zola captured.  
Sgt Barnes MIA.  
Will report back soon. Looking for a body to bury.

**  
  
**

**  
  
**

{found on December 8th among the personal effects of Sgt. James B. Barnes, deceased}

December 2, 1943

Dear Steve,

A while back you left me a note, and I've been sitting here staring at it for what must've been hours. Now that we have a second to breathe in between strikes, half of me wants to grab my jacket and come find you so we can hash this out face to face right this minute. The other half of me wants to grab my rifle and take off into the woods, go AWOL and never have to deal with any of this.

In the end, I figure neither are very bright ideas. We can't worry about these problems of ours now, not when there's a war to win. So I'm writing you this letter. Getting all my thoughts down so when the time comes—when the fight is over—I can hand this to you and let the chips fall where they may. No backing out, no backing down. I got to tell you how it is with me, and this is the only way I know to do that.

I fell for you a long time ago, Steve.

Maybe you knew, maybe you've always known. I thought maybe you ignored it because you were too nice to tell me to quit. I thought, Steve's not like me. I thought, even if you were, you just see me as a brother, your best bud. I thought I must've dreamed that birthday of yours in Harlem. I thought lots of awful things, but now I think—I hope—that what you said in your note means you feel the same as I do.

But where's that leave us? You want me to just say the word, but what's the word? You and Peggy—that's real. That's what you need. But I need you too, and I'm man enough to admit it now.

The others, Dugan and Gabe and Morita, they're always talking about what they're going to do when they get back home. They want to go to college, start a business, get married, have a family, move somewhere quiet, grow rose bushes…. Steve, I never made plans like that. I never thought about what I'd do when the war was done because I always assumed I'd just come home to you and our apartment and your sketches and the damn busted boiler. I thought things would go back to the way they'd been.

But we can't go back. Everything's changed, you and me most of all—we're not those kids from Brooklyn anymore. I see that now.

So here's an idea: say we all get through this war in one piece, you, me, and Peg. Say you and her do the smart thing and get hitched. And say…say we all find a big house, maybe on Long Island or even outside of DC if you need to be where the bigwigs will want you.

Say the three of us make a go of it. Together.

I know this must sound crazy, and to be honest, I might be a little crazy for even bringing it up. I don't know if you'd even consider it, or if Peggy would either. But if anyone has the heart to love more than one person at a time, it's you. I think maybe you're already doing it. And Peg—I don't know what kind of arrangement this would be exactly, but I'm plenty fond of her. Whatever you and she think is best—if you're both willing, that is—would be good enough for me.

Wow, there it is, black and white, all spelled out in my chicken scratch. I can hardly believe it. When you read this, please just chew it over for a few minutes, and if the whole thing turns your stomach, we'll drop it for good. But I have a feeling you'll light up at the idea. The more I think about it, the more it feels right. Weird, but right. Well, we were never ones for normal, were we?

I better end this before I start drifting off into another daydream. I have to get ready for our next mission anyway. Can't believe I let you convince me to jump onto a moving train.  

No matter what happens, Steve, I'm glad I finally told you the truth. I don't know what's next, but for the first time in a long time, I'm looking forward to the future.

All my love and always yours,

Bucky

**  
  
  
  
  
  
  
**

Stark Tower, NY

February 27, 2015

The man in the black jacket finishes reading the final letter and places it carefully in the stack of papers on the white table. He looks up and meets Steve Rogers' unblinking stare. The Captain is leaning forward intently, his hands rubbing up and down his thighs to make a nervous swishing sound against his civvie trousers.

"Well?" Rogers asks.

"How did you hold onto these all this time?" His voice, thick with disuse, is low and quiet, more suited to questions of a practical nature instead of answers.

Rogers shrugs. "I kept them bundled together in my duffle after— After you disappeared," he says, settling on a word. "When I took a nosedive into the ice, Peg collected them along with some other personal stuff. Said she didn't think it would be right to let some government creeps paw through it. When I finally caught up with her, she gave me a key to a safety deposit box and there they were." His face turns sadder, somehow. His eyes go distant. "Peg swore she didn't read any more of them, but she was pretty far gone by that point, so I don't know if…." He trails off.

The man who used to answer to the name Barnes picks up the last letter he'd read, studying the hurried strokes of the signature. "I don't remember writing this," he says. A flash of light on metal, and he fishes another from the stack. His fingertip, a human one, traces over the perfect whorls that make up the S in Steve. He shakes his head. "And I don't remember getting these."

Steve forces a deep breath through his teeth, leans back in his chair, drags a tired hand through his shining hair. "I knew it was a longshot. Just thought maybe something in there would jog your—" He presses his fingertips to his eyes, and something inside Bucky shifts. "It doesn't matter," Steve says into his palms. "We can try something else some other time."

The man with the metal arm cocks his head. He puts the letters down, leans over the table, takes hold of Steve's wrists. He pulls them down, slow and careful, until he can see Steve's eyes again. They're blue, but he knew that already. He doesn't let go of Steve just yet.

They stand. Steve stands, that is, and leads him upright, around the table that's between them. He opens his mouth, then seems to think better of it and says nothing. Bucky considers him. It's like seeing layers of old onionskin paper laid out on top of each other: a skinny little kid, shivering in the cold, beneath this big man with pain in his eyes.

"I would have said yes, you know," Steve says. "When I found your last letter, all I could think was how I would've said—"

Memory makes Bucky lean forward. The fit isn't right, but Steve goes willingly, arms around him, big hands fisting in the fabric at his back. His head ducks under Bucky's chin and stays there. Bucky can feel a warm breath, a sigh almost, across his neck. He noses into that bright hair and inhales. It smells of Brooklyn, of another century. He presses a kiss to Steve's hair. An echo of something else.

"I remember you," Bucky says. "Let's start there."

Steve nods into his chest and they stay there like that for a long time.

 

**  
  
  
  
  
  
**

**Author's Note:**

> The voice of Steven Rogers is written by brokentoy, who is on [tumblr](http://brokentoyinlalaland.tumblr.com/) if you like dorky pictures of Chris Evans and Sebastian Stan. 
> 
> The voice of Bucky Barnes is written by triedunture, who is on [tumblr](http://stuffimgoingtohellfor.tumblr.com/) if you like trashy pictures of Chris Evans and Sebastian Stan. Tried wrote a kind of, sort of sequel to this fic which you can find [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1720817).
> 
> Thanks to [Ark](http://et-in-arkadia.tumblr.com/) for the beta.


End file.
